The Cold
by dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap
Summary: What do you get with a sick Ron and Harry Potter as his chef? Chicken Soup. Without chicken... and man eating candy corns?


**Disclaimer:**** Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. **

**The Cold**

Contrary to popular belief I am _not_ a child when I'm sick. I don't care what Hermione says. I do not 'revert' back to childish ways to get what I want. I don't moan. I don't complain. I do not sniffle or sulk. She's such an exaggerator.

She's lucky I love her.

No. She's lucky I took a _vow_ to love her.

"You're lucky I took a vow to love you!" I shout hoarsely, dropping to the floor loudly and lunging towards her ankles. She yelps in surprise as my clammy hands grip her as tightly as my poor weak body will allow.

Hermione groans and tries kicking me off gently (what a lovely gesture, she's clearly in love with me) and then pulls her wand out from her pocket, pausing as if to debate if she should or should not hex me.

I'm pretty sure she could go to Azkaban for that though.

"Ron! Get off of me! Stop being such a child. All you have is a _cold_," she says snootily, shaking her legs. "Just take a pepper-up—"

"No!" I wail (in a manly way of course). The last time I took a pepper-up potion I ended up with steam shooting out of my ears. My entire bedroom was so smoky I couldn't see anything infront of me. George and Percy thought it would be hysterical to make things fly at my nose.

Parchment is deadly.

Bloody pointy edges.

"I want my Mum's soup! No potion. Soup! Soup! Soup!" I yell, chanting the word 'soup' for another twenty times.

She groans, pushing her hands through her brown curly hair, trying to think over my shouting. I flop to the floor as she thinks, letting go of her ankles and instead welcoming the cold green tiled floor since my body feels like it's on fire.

Behind me I hear two groans coming from my sister and my best mate. They have been trying for the past hour to get out of our love nest (and when I mean _our_ I mean _theirs_ considering we're in their house) but Hermione had so _rudely_ involved them in our current predicament.

It's like the Wizarding War all over again because Hermione won't make me my Mum's special chicken soup for her sick baby boy. Apparently not only the name of the soup makes Hermione's skin crawl but the fact that I wailed (I did _not_) for my mum and cried when I found out she couldn't come to make said soup really repulsed her.

She knew what she was getting into when she married me.

…And I didn't cry. My eyes were sweating.

She's just jealous because her parents deprived her from soup as a child. Weird teeth cleaning in-laws I have.

"How about regular canned chicken soup? That always works well…" Harry says lightly.

I groan in response, pulling my legs to my chest and sitting up, glaring at him. If I glare hard enough I know he'll crumble. Harry can't resist me.

"Ron, enough. If you want soup make it yourself. Stop being such a child!" Ginny shouts, smacking the top of my head with her hand and walking towards Hermione. They give each other a silent look, lips in a tight line and arms crossed against their respective chests.

She's evil. I don't know why Harry is with her…bet Romilda Vane would have made me soup…or Cho Chang. Cho Chang looks like she'd be good in the kitchen. My sister can't even toast bread.

I whimper, trying to come up with one last attempt at stalling the three and forcing them to make my mum's special soup. Instead of saying anything, instead of pleading with them all, I shut my blue eyes tightly and cross my arms against my chest, trying not to burst into manly tears.

Ginny shrieks. Hermione starts mumbling something about murder as she pats my head and I can hear Harry's footsteps as he rushes off into another room, leaving the three of us together.

Well…I'm sure with the two of them they can make me my soup. Women are _supposed_ to work well together in the kitchen. I think it's due to their hormones or something.

"I need my soup!" I shout angrily, rubbing my red face with my fists. "I want my mum!"

At the mention of dear Mum, Hermione and Ginny both cringe as I open my eyes. They share a quiet look and without saying anything, scramble towards the kitchen door, shoving each other to get to freedom first.

The door slams and here I sit. Soup-less, wife-less and sister-less.

Gulping, I wipe at the sweat on my forehead and frown as Harry enters the kitchen once again, a sour look on his face, dark brows furrowed.

"Harry!" I yelp. "They left!"

He groans and drops his head in his hands, green eyes peeking at me through his fingertips.

"_HARRY!_" I shout as loudly as I can. Perhaps he can't hear me. Maybe he's sick too. Maybe we can be sick together.

"WHAT!" He shouts back, temper getting the best of him. His face is flushed and he's mumbling curses to himself.

I cough while awkwardly getting up from the floor, grabbing the red knit quilt I had wrapped around me and shuffle towards the kitchen table, sitting down on one of the chairs.

"I'm sick," I whisper hoarsely, hugging the quilt I had stolen from Harry's bed.

Whoops.

In return, Harry sucks in his breath and grumbles something about my bogeys and germs contaminating his blanket. Of course he could have said bogeys are delicious. I'm not really sure. There's a buzzing in my ears.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

"Really sick," I say with a yawn, dropping my head on the table with a loud thud. "I think I'm _dying_."

Harry rolls his eyes and grits his teeth with anger. He keeps taking deep breaths to calm himself. It's clear by the way he clenches his fist he wants to strangle me. How could my sister and wife leave me alone with him? He's _unstable_. Might murder me…might mistake me for another Voldemort.

I'm on to you Harry Potter.

"I _know_ you're sick," he mutters, "but please, keep reminding me."

I didn't take a vow to love _him_.

(Just saying…)

"I'm sick," I groan. "Sick, sick, sick. Where's Ginny? Where's Hermione? Where's Mum? I just want my soup…soup, where are you?" I whimper and try to reach my arms out to Harry but they feel like jelly and just flop on the kitchen table, pain shooting up my arms.

"You're worst than a child. They left. Hermione mentioned something about murdering you. If only I could…"

I sniffle. My throat feels itchy and dry. My nose is stuffed. I can only breathe out of one nostril and my entire body feels like it's on fire. Yet I no sympathy.

"What about my soup?" I question.

His left eye twitches slightly and he sucks in his breath. I will _break_ you, Harry Potter.

"Here," he says, grabbing a blue basket that's on the table, "eat this. It's delicious."

I make a disgusted face as he places a piece of hard moldy looking bread on the table. My hand slowly reaches for it and I weakly knock it against the table.

It's as hard as a brick. Could be used as a weapon…

Is Harry trying to murder me?

I give him a steely glance, my blue eyes heavy. "It's moldy and it's bread. I want soup! I want my mum's soup. Make me soup!" I wail, stomping my feet on the floor.

"Ron," Harry says calmly. He discreetly kicks me underneath the table, stopping my stomping and then reaches over the table, grabbing the moldy bread and throwing it back in its basket. "There's no soup. Either eat the bread or starve. If you want soup you're going to make it yourself."

Harry's words don't register in my head. All I hear is 'soup' and 'make it' because of the buzzing in my ears. I grin happily at him, leaning back with content in my chair.

"You'll make me Mum's soup? This is why we're mates!" I exclaim hoarsely, reaching forward to give his hand a quick loving pat.

Harry shakes his head violently, green eyes shining. A look of horror appears on his face and he grabs the moldy bread, bringing it to his lips as if he's going to eat it. He sniffs it, wrinkles his nose and drops it back in the blue basket, giving me a hard look.

All this talk about moldy bread is making my stomach feel queasy.

I wonder if he'll make me some tea too.

"I'm not making you soup. I don't even know how to make the soup. Are you even listening to me?" he questions hotly.

I cock my head to the side and quickly remove my wand from my trouser pocket, pointing it in the air.

"_Accio recipe!_" I say, sniffling and swishing my wand around.

Harry snorts but to his surprise a blue recipe book flies into my hands. Grinning, I open the book and flip through the pages, searching for my mum's special soup recipe. The book was a gift from her when Ginny and I got married, we received all of her special recipes tucked safely away in it. Hermione hasn't even opened her book.

"Ron, you aren't even listening to me," he says desperately. "I don't cook. The last time I properly made something I was eleven—"

"Dudley seemed perfectly healthy to me!" I point out happily. "Now, here's the recipe. Get cooking."

Harry glares at me but grabs the book forcefully out of my hands. His green eyes quickly scan the words, forehead creasing as he gets further down the page.

"It's all in a foreign language," he says, eyeing the recipe nervously. "I don't even know what orange zest is and why does this recipe call for tongue when it's called chicken soup…there isn't even any chicken in this recipe!" He shouts, dropping the book on the table.

I shrug, only making him angrier. We were poor. Mum had to improvise. It was whatever meat was cheap at the time. Sometimes it was chicken. Sometimes it was tongue. I think I once had a bit of dog but I don't want Harry to know that since his godfather was Sirius 'Snuffles' Black.

"Mum used whatever meat she could afford. Come on Harry, you cooked for that _evil_ muggle family of yours. Why can't you cook for your favorite brother-in-law?" I question, batting my eyelashes for an extra effect.

He grimaces and then sighs, rising from his chair with the cookbook in his hands. Wordlessly he saunters towards the light pink kitchen counters (who in their right mind has pink kitchen counters?) and starts to open and close cabinets, removing pots and pans and then searches for spices from his spice rack.

"Harry…" I say, trying to get his attention. "Don't you want to put on an apron? Perhaps wash your hands…"

I really don't know where his hands have been. When you're Harry Potter you tend to do questionable things.

"I'm not wearing an apron!" he shouts, turning towards me. His entire body is tense and his green eyes are filled with anger. A hand jumps to his wand and he taps it, baring his unnaturally white teeth at me.

Merlin, if he hexes me he'll have to make me soup for the rest of my life.

"_Harry_, Mum always made the soup in a cauldron…"

He turns back around, pushing the pots forcefully out of his way, some of them falling to the floor loudly. He must not care for his tiling. I know I don't. Who gets green tiling for a pink kitchen? It's beyond me.

"I didn't know I was making a potion," he snaps.

I shrug and give him the sweetest smile I can muster. "Mum always made the soup in a cauldron and she used to wear a wizards hat…she would take a ladle and…of course you don't have to do that…" I mutter.

He rolls his eyes, pausing to stare at me for a moment and then walks towards a kitchen cabinet, bending down to pull out a black cauldron. I can't hide my excitement as he walks over to the kitchen table and drops it infront of me.

He's really too good to me.

"Anything else?" he questions hotly. "Want me to do a jig for you? Sing to you a bit? Rock you to sleep? Did Mummy do that as well?"

In truth she did but I don't say anything. She used to call me her little dragon and pretend to bite my toes off when she cooked.

I don't want his teeth near my toes…_that's_ crossing the line.

"Where are we on wearing the wizards hat and apron?" I question, flinching slightly as he reaches for his wand again. "Because I wouldn't want you to get yourself dirty of course. I mean…that's a lovely shirt you're wearing."

He bites his bottom lip, a spot of blood appearing and then turns around, angrily walking towards a drawer and sifting around, pulling out a checkered blue and red apron. His shirt isn't lovely for the record. It just says 'Stud' on it. I just really want him to wear Ginny's apron that says 'Kiss The Cook.'

I wonder how much money I'd make if I take a photograph of him cooking in the apron and sell it to the _Prophet_. I can just imagine the headlines now.

_SAVIOR OF THE WIZARDING WORLD, A CROSS DRESSER? _

"Be nice to me or I'll poison your food Ron."

Well, there goes that idea. I nod in understanding and snicker to myself as he points his wand threateningly at my neck.

"Now," he says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "Let's see. I need four cups of chopped onion…six cups of lemon juice…for the love of…" He whispers to himself, running towards his refrigerator and back to the cauldron.

I don't say anything as he collects his ingredients in a hurry. I wonder if Harry can actually cook. What if he _does_ poison me? Maybe I should write a letter to Hermione and warn her about Harry's ulterior motive.

Unless she really does want to murder me too. What if he's cooking for me but really is murdering me for _her_? That'll give him a chance to finally swoop in and take Hermione from me.

He'll be at my funeral canoodling with my wife and throw my sister to the spiders!

I squint my eyes, glaring at Harry, trying my hardest to watch his every move. He's going to add some rat poison or something equally disgusting and deadly to my soup. I _know_ it. You share a dormitory with someone for six years and this is how they repay you.

With each ingredient he drops I tense up a bit more, shaking my left leg slightly. What if the beef has a beefy disease? Or the fairy wings are really coated with venom from a poisonous spider?

What if the paprika is really from the head of Percy who Harry decided to kill because he didn't believe him all those years ago? _What if_ it's from Mum's head and she's not really visiting Bill?

Harry wouldn't kill my mum…would he?

I shake my head, trying to quiet the loud beating of my heart in my ears. Harry is looking at me with an odd expression on his face but quickly goes back to his bubbling cauldron, dropping an entire cantaloupe into the mix.

"Maybe…m-m-maybe this was a bad idea Harry," I say quickly. "Maybe you shouldn't cook. I think I'm starting to feel better. See?" I try to fight off a cough but only start choking on air.

He snorts and smacks my back (very roughly mind you. I bet he's wondering if I'm tender enough to throw in the soup) and whistles.

"Trust me. I'm practically a chef when it comes to cooking eggs and bacon. This is just as easy. Now, pass me the anchovies."

I whimper as I grab the plastic bag that the anchovies are in, not wanting to press my skin against the plastic incase it's laced with poison or dragon pox. He absentmindedly stirs the soup with his ladle, checking the temperature from time to time and nodding as he reads the cookbook.

"Harry, you like my mum, right?"

He nods as he drops a dollop of ranch dressing into the mixture. "Of course."

I whimper, trying not to tense up. Poor Mum! Poor Ginny! Poor Percy! Never stood a chance.

"So…you and Ginny…how's that working out?" I question lightly. "Any problems?"

Harry gives me a knowing look and stops his stirring to open a bag of candy corn, shaking the contents into the cauldron.

"You and Hermione are having problems? Ron, marriage isn't easy but Hermione is a lovely person—"

I knew it!

Gritting my teeth, I nod my head as he continues on his love struck rant about how Hermione _Weasley_ is _so_ great while I grip my wand in my right hand. There should be a spell to end this madness and teach him a lesson.

Something! Anything! How dare he compliment my wife!

"This is actually really fun Ron. We'll have to save some for Ginny and—"

"_EXPULSO!"_ I bellow, pointing my wand at the hot cauldron.

Instantly, Harry is screaming at the top of his lungs as the cauldron explodes and the contents shoot out, burning Harry. Of course since I'm near him the soup shoots at me as well from the side and I'm next to him screaming for my life.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" He screams, removing his glasses and trying to wipe them on a clean part of the apron.

I don't respond. I'm jumping around trying to get cantaloupe off of my shirt and shaking my arms to try and lessen the burn. My exposed skin looks red and blotchy.

"It's alive! The soup is alive!" I scream, hopping towards him and throwing my arms about.

Harry shrieks and tries to run away from me but I'm too quick and jump on his back, making the two of us fall to the floor.

"You hit on Hermione after I died!" I shout, taking my cantaloupe covered hands and massaging them into his face.

"You've gone mad Ron! You're not even dead! What's wrong with you?" he questions, struggling to get up from the floor. He's kicking his legs into my backside and I yelp from the pain.

I don't say anything because he's making a lot of sense. I would plead insanity but I don't think a cold will get me out of Azkaban. Instead, as Harry mumbles something, I continue massaging his now cantaloupe filled hair, digging myself deeper into this mess.

"_Opungo!_" he shouts, struggling to point his wand at something nearby.

I screech, jumping off of him as pieces of candy corn come to life and start gnawing at my trousers.

"Harry! How could you!" I scream, struggling to shake them off.

He says nothing but rises from the floor, panting as he gives me a look that's filled with pure hatred. Grinning, he points his wand at my chest, pausing to think of what spell to use next.

I shield my face with my hands, kicking my legs as the candy corns continue to nibble at my thighs.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" he shouts, making me scoff with disbelief.

"You're using my favorite spell against me!"

Harry rolls his eyes and levitates a forgotten pot over my head. "I'm debating if I should knock you out or send you to St. Mungo's. What is going on with you?"

I cough weakly and lay on my back, sprawled out in defeat. "I'm really sick," I whisper pathetically.

Harry groans and lets the pot fall on my head and then points his wand at the nibbling orange candy corns, making them fall off my legs.

"Ow!" I say with a hiss. "Merlin, Harry! My head."

"Sorry," he says, grinning sheepishly, green eyes lighting up. "But you deserved it. _Never_ come to my house again when you're sick."

I nod my head weakly in understanding and shakily get up from the floor, dropping back onto my forgotten seat, covering myself with the quilt again.

"Harry?" I call out.

He sighs, picking up the pot from the floor and looks at me. "What?"

"I'm really hungry. I mean _really_ hungry. I'm starving," I mumble, giving him a sweet smile.

Wordlessly, he walks towards his refrigerator and pulls out some things, hiding them from my view. He walks over to the table and drops uncooked eggs and frozen bacon infront of me.

I frown, raising my eyebrow. "I really want soup…my mum's soup…" I whisper, letting my sentence hang in the air between us.

He doesn't say anything but instead summons a bowl and cracks two eggs into it and whispers _augamenti_, smirking at me.

"There…egg _soup_."

I moan, pushing the bowl of eggs away from me and shudder.

**Author's Note****: One-shots and Dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap do not mix. I don't know why. I've been trying to really get into one-shots and write one that's mildly written well but it doesn't seem to be working. Let me know what you think in a review! C.C is much needed/appreciated. **

**This one-shot came in 3****rd**** place for the 'Boys in the Kitchen Humor Challenge' created by Alopex on HPFF. **

**Final Edit: 17 July 2012**


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